A few posts ago, I talked about butts. This week, we’re talking about the vajingo. My mother is probably mortified. A few of my close friends are probably giggling. And everyone else is probably like
Well, we’re kiiiiiind of referring to va-jee… and the heinous crime it is to suffocate her in a cloth cage. I’m talking about underwear of all shapes and sizes. What is this hatred for whitey tighties? Or thoia-thoia-thoia-thoings (Thong Song, anyone)? Or boy shorts? Or any other kind of fancy-pants cut designed to give you wedgies and overheat your undercarriage.
Why am I Captain (No) Underpants? I shall count the ways (Ten Things I Hate About You… Anyone? Anyone?) Except I don’t low-key love them. I still really hate them.
Underoos suck because they’re uncomfortable. Few pairs of underwear have graced my nether regions and made me feel as fabulously sexy as portrayed by Victoria Secret commercials. And yes, I’ve purchased the VS lingerie. Not that impressed.
The silky ones seem great, but they don’t breathe. And ladies, you know what that means… YEAST INFECTION. Sup itchiness and feeling like Jabba the Hutt. I used to have troubles with yeast infections constantly creepin’ up on my vajingo, no matter what I did. And then I stopped wearing panties. And I haven’t had a yeast infection since. Coincidence? I THINK NOT.
Boy shorts theoretically should be fabulous. They definitely seem like my style of underwear; they’re chill, comfy, not a lot of fuss to ’em. But move an inch and it’s wedge city. Pass.
Regular undies are only to be worn during blood week, and since I no longer experience that, I have no use for them. Claps & snaps for the IUD; Mirena forever.
Thongs are sort of the go-to because… VPL. Ain’t nobody crazy about Visible Panty Lines. Nothing worse than starting at the top of a nice, perky booty, checking out its entirety, and…. MASSIVE dent where the panty line lands. But then you’re walking around with an intentional wedgie.
Does anyone even own the ones that are supposed to go up high over the hips like the Baywatch swimsuits? I think that was a thing in the ’80s, and while I love many things from the ’80s… that is one trend I never understood.
How bout when you’re walking around, and then… schoop. Part of your undies gets sucked right between the cheeks. Now you’re in public with an unintended, undesired wedgie, and depending upon the circumstances… you may have to suffer until you can excuse yourself to go to the restroom. Or risk quick removal, and then look like you’re pickin’ ass in public.
There’s a piece of advice my dad shares about there being a time and a place for profanity. Obviously, I sprinkle time and place generously all over my life because I love cursing, but I’d also like to take that wildly out of context and say there’s a time and a place for underwear.
Usually, that time and place is when you don’t have to wear clothes over them. I think that’s the secret: good for walking around your home, pretending to be in a VS commercial. I think that’s actually the entire point of underwear. You don’t really want them unless you’re tryna set the mood, or you’re feelin’ yourself, or feelin’ yourself, know what I’m sayin? *eyebrow wiggle*
I’ll make ONE exception to my complete disdain for wearing the modern version of a loincloth. Sometimes when you get all fancied up, it’s part of the process to put on a nice bra/panteroo set, because something about it just makes you feel like you’re the Beyoncé of everywhere you go.
But best believe, the second I get home, that shit is coming OFF. Free the va-jee. She will thank you later.